this is a silent poem
a wordless poem
a single moonpearl poem
found at the bottom
of a lake
made of hushed footfalls at twilight
and the fluid feathers of dawn

this is a wordless poem
because words fail me

words like exquisite
words like euphoric
loosen their ballast
and rise from the tongue as hot air balloons
to be swallowed by
renegade clouds in a carousel sky

words like saffron and sublime
silken sumptuous words like plump pillows
stuffed with lavender kisses, embroidered with
heathered hopes
strewn across an opium bed
fold in on themselves,
falling away from my lips
like the last tendrils of morning dreams

my heart writes wordless words
my pen can only dream about

words like honeysuckle and jasmine
twine around my chest
like bleeding hearts and bougainvillea
words grow down like secret garden roots
branching rich in the thick loam
of the unknown
spinning wings from silken things long forgotten
and half remembered

words like ink spill across my Once Upon a Time,
skipping along the spine of a true fairy tale
like tiny paw prints and tinier whiskers
on the pages of an Ever After

words swirl like snowflakes on winter’s eve
lacing tiny white dresses on rabbits and golden carriages
on their way to a starlit ball
words, like glass slippers and magic spells,
break at midnight, leaving me among
pumpkins and paupers, searching green vines
for golden words, a vein of wild imagining
to thread the spindle of this poem

like cherry blossoms in April winds
words scatter across rose shaped windows
and skim the surface of the Seine
like little paper sailboats with red-ribboned sails
and silver circle lifesavers
etched with secret longings
of a distant prophet

words like bridges crowded with saints
crumble with age and drown in beauty
they stalk across battered cobblestones
and haunt the backs of angles
who never dare to speak

words like tender caresses
burn molten tallow candles
softly glowing dripping wax
until the night is black with sighing
and words tangle like sheets and limbs
red velvet matador words
thunder from the dark of the bullring
while palms and pulse ignite like lightning
of “yes” and “more” and “yes again”

words travel from fingertip to page
only to be lost in the wood
they scatter like breadcrumbs in a forest
full of sparrows
who snatch The Way Home
in tiny copper beaks

words like fetching
words like smitten
climb up on a windowsill
to sail away on the green wind
wearing only one shoe
circumnavigating fairyland
in a pink and yellow gravy boat

words like little doors in the crook of an elbow
open and close, letting in then closing out the light
spilling like so many lullabys
in a little big sky
words like striped tents and fireflies
appear without warning
somersaulting acrobatics
they fly through air
defying gravity
but vanish without notice
like dew drop fairies in morning’s embrace

words settle like memories at
the bottom
of a wishing well
tossed like so many gleaming coins
minted in sighs of hope and belonging
they coil ‘round my soul
like abalone and quicksilver
in a mermaid’s crown

words gather me to the floor
of a smoldering lake
brown and silken like the pools of your eyes
and there the words and I willingly drown
in surrender of the sweetest kind,
in the place where words without words
sing their silent songs
down the long hallways of Elysium

this is a silent poem
a wordless poem
because words fail me

words like love
stitched across my heart
woven of dawn, threaded with twilight
worlds within words within worlds
live only at the edges of things
words ephemeral, words eternal
breathe in the space between thoughts
where love is the heat of hands enfolded
and bones of ghosts turned toward
each other in the ground
whisper echoes
of a silent poem
a love poem
strung with pearls
collected at the bottom of Psyche’s lake:
You.
Me.
Then.
Now.
Us.
Always.